


Stane on the Sands

by tisfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Scorpion King (2002)
Genre: Alpha/Alpha Relationship, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Scorpion King, Established Relationship, Forced Nudity, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Obadiah Stane is an Asshole, Omega Tony Stark, Seer Tony Stark, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Virgin Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: The Scorpion King Alpha/Beta/Omega retelling - A desert warrior rises up against the evil army that is destroying his homeland. He captures the enemy's key sorcerer, takes him deep into the desert and prepares for a final showdown.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 104





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jmak119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmak119/gifts).



The camp was bright with fire, merry with wine, full of boasting and tales of prowess. There was music and singing, there were moans of pleasure.

There was the prison tent and the screams coming from it were neither merry nor bright. Pain, anguish. Threats. Pleading. Begging. 

Above it all, one prisoner was firm, and silent. Resolved. He would die well, but first he would die hard. He watched them, the Chitauri, who had come from the south, and who had pillaged mindlessly.

Did the free tribes not have enough troubles already, with the warlord from the north?

The few southern tribes had taken advantage of a lull in war to have a market day, and these scurvy dogs dared to take it? Retribution would be swift. Assuming it got here in time.

One of the Chitauri hit the prisoner. He grunted, spat a mouthful of blood, and glared. “I can do this all day.”

The Chitauri laughed. “You’ll not look so proud without an eye to glare, without your tongue to beg for mercy.”

“May the gods have mercy on you,” the prisoner said. “Because Bucky will not.”

“Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?”

There was no sound, no warning, as arrows started raining down on the camp. The Chitauri melted under the onslaught, falling to short, brutal deaths.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve said. Bucky cut his bindings. 

“I could see that,” Bucky joked. “But sometimes I think you _like_ gettin’ hit.”

With a whistle, he signalled the rest of their men. The marketplace had been attacked, but the prisoners were not as helpless as the Chitauri had thought.

“You just like to make a dramatic entrance,” Steve said. “I have to give you some moments, otherwise you might get sad.”

“Punk,” Bucky said. He drew Steve into a quick hug, a brief kiss. “Are you hurt?”

“Not enough to mind, or matter,” Steve said. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough, but you bought us some time. We’ll bury less than ten. Some goods lost. They’ll bury quite a bit more than ten. And we’ll take their treasures with us.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” Steve complained. “We need to make peace with the southern tribes, or we’re all going to die. Stane can beat us all, as long as he does it piecemeal.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Bucky said. “You’ll never get the other kings to listen.”

“I’m going south,” Steve insisted. “I’ll gather the tribes. They’ll listen. They have to.”

“Good luck with that, my husband,” Bucky said, clasping his hands. “Our tribes only don’t fight because we’re married. And we’re all out of leaders that I care to share a bed with.”

“You should come with me,” Steve said. “If they see the Commandos and the Thunderbolts can unite, they’ll know that anyone can.”

“I have a job to do,” Bucky said. “Besides, the Thunderbolts are all but extinct. I’ve heard there are some, in the north, who survived as children. I’m going to take this job, and then see if I can’t liberate the children of my people.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed looking for the remnants of your tribe.”

The Thunderbolts had been all but wiped out when Bucky made it to a leadership position. Since then, he’d been able to hide his people, those that remained. Protect them. Made some alliances, including the one with the Commandos that cost him some of his freedom, and most of his heart, and gained him Steve.

“It’s my life, to spend it as I will,” Bucky said, because this was an old argument. He wouldn’t leave his people to suffer and die, and eventually, he would bring them all home.

Or he would die in the attempt.

Bucky found Steve a sword, liberated from one of the Chitauri. Later, they would find his shield. And even later, they would retire to Bucky’s tent to celebrate another victory. And another night together.

But by the morning, Bucky would be gone again.

_Jerk._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: References to dub/non-con elements

Dawn in the city of Gomorrah was the only time it was, in fact, cold. At night the fires were burning to keep away the desert’s chill because the sand held no heat as soon as the sun was down. And during the day it was hot enough to make the King’s Seer grateful for the ridiculously skimpy costume he was forced to wear. It was difficult to look powerful and wise when one was dripping sweat and one’s kohl was streaking down one’s cheeks.

Tony Stark, the King’s Seer. Sorcerer and oracle.

Omega.

Virgin. Gifted by the gods with the power of foresight.

He sighed, and moved to the wide window that caught what little breeze there was; he was chilly, but it didn’t matter.

That first sight of the rapidly bluing sky, when he could remember the hands of his mother and the way she would throw open the window-- when the blue sky meant freedom, and not a reminder of his chains.

Figuratively speaking.

Stane, warlord and King, wouldn’t dare put a Seer in chains. But they were there nonetheless. A gilded cage was still a prison, and it was only because Tony saw the truth of things that kept Stane happy. That kept Tony safe.

He hadn’t forgotten that Obadiah Stane had been his father’s best friend, his mother’s protector, an uncle in all but name.

But sometimes it felt like Stane had forgotten those things. He treated Tony like the golden goose, but one that he wanted in a way that made Tony’s heart stutter in his chest. That made his throat swell until he felt he couldn’t speak at all.

Stane. Alpha. His scent dominated everything. The rest of the pack were cowed. Or betas. 

Tony huffed a sigh. It wasn’t like it mattered. No one felt sorry for him. Poor little rich omega, living in silks and gold, untouched and pampered. The entire army adored him with a fanaticism bordering on alarming, which might even have been useful, if Stane hadn’t had them all whipped into compliance.

And, even though they claimed to adore him, Tony hadn’t missed the occasional lustful glance. Stane hadn’t said it outright, but he’d implied it enough for Tony to know the truth.

Betray Stane, find himself robbed of his virginity, bereft of his power, and thrown down for the common soldiers to use as they would.

It wasn’t much of a choice.

The sun hit the horizon, like a primal god winking his eye.

_Tell me, my dawn stars, what lay in store._

Usually, Tony saw Stane, his armies, his victories. The pillage and ransacking of villages that had defied him. The looting of treasures, the slaughter of the innocent.

Stane had built his empire on it. Tony’s visions had never been wrong.

Of course he won; and for no good reason, he ordered the entire village to its death. Executed every single one of them until the sands were muddy with blood and the cries of the bereaved were silenced. The vultures would eat their fill.

And the next village would either surrender immediately, or they would fight to the very last man, woman, and child. There was no reasoning with Stane’s rage.

Why he needed to own, to conquer, everything, Tony could not discern. Must be some Alpha thing. Stane needed to prove something.

Tony sighed, and turned away from the slaughter.

And at the very edge of his rapidly fading vision, was a man.

An Alpha, with crystal blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. 

On his left arm, he wore the Red Star.

The Winter Soldier.

He was out there, still. Assassin. The last of the Thunderbolt tribe. The tribe had ruled most of the east, until the Winter Soldier took it into his head to murder the king and queen of Gomorrah, leaving a child to inherit a kingdom.

Stane had made it his personal mission to track down and kill all the Thunderbolts he could get his hands on. With his bare hands, when necessary.

“He’s out there,” Tony said, not sure what he was saying. He squinted. The man looked murderous, that was for certain. Staring down at the village that was destroyed, his bow in his hand. “Oh, gods, he’s still out there.”

Tony climbed out of the window and closed the shutters, drowning the room in darkness. He considered his bed, but the blankets were long since cold, and meeting Stane while still abed conjured images he didn’t want the warlord to have.

Stane depended on his Seer, and the Seer had to be virginal-- but an Alpha had been known to forget things that were in his own interest. He could -- and would -- command Tony to attend him while he visited the harem. To watch, as the warlord took his pleasure, and somehow, to be an unwilling part of it.

Tony frequented the baths _a lot_.

There was a soft tap at the door and one of the serving boys poked his head in. “Your breakfast, All Seeing.”

Tony scoffed. He wasn’t all seeing. For instance, he had no idea what breakfast was, although he could guess. Emmer flatcakes with fruit jam and cold, honey-roasted gazelle. Dates and pomegranate seeds. Wine to keep him placid, food to keep him content.

“After breakfast, please let Lord Stane know, I have had another vision,” Tony said, because there wasn’t any point in even a reprieve. Stane planned to march tomorrow, Tony would be seeing him sooner rather than later. Might as well get it over with.

“Yes, All Seeing,” the boy said, eyes wide with fear. 

“You may tell the Captain of the Guard, instead,” Tony suggested. Rhodes was afraid of Stane, as all smart people were, but he had standing in the palace, and he could speak with Stane without fear of reprisal. “And also tell him that I would like to go out for the afternoon. Rhodes may accompany me.”

“Yes, All Seeing,” the boy repeated.

Tony ate. He wasn’t especially hungry, but he would need his strength. The boy watched avidly, eyes fastened to the tabaq, watching as Tony emptied the dish a little bite at a time. If there were anything left on the tabaq when Tony sent the boy away, he would be able to eat it before reaching the kitchens.

Tony pushed the last few dates, a half piece of flatbread, liberally smeared with fruit, and a wedge of soft cheese away. 

There was little he could do about the suffering of the people, but making sure the palace slaves were well fed was one of them.

They were all slaves.

Stane didn’t acknowledge any equal.

“I bid you good day, and gods blessings, All Seeing.”

“Thank you,” Tony said. His thoughts turned to the Winter Soldier again. Maybe-- it was damnable to think that the Winter Soldier might be the one to overthrow Stane. But not impossible.

And surely, surely the man with those crystal-blue eyes, surely he could not be as bad. Would he have _any_ mercy?

Tony tried to call up the seeing trance again. _Show him to me._

* * *

When Tony was a mere lad -- barely five years old, his mother’s powers long vanished from the public eye -- she had died, along with her husband, the king.

“The Winter Soldier killed them,” as Stane told the tale. “Tracked them down and slaughtered them like animals.”

“But why--” He almost asked why his mother hadn’t Seen it, but knew the answer, and kept it silenced. Not wanting to admit to blame. It _wasn’t_ his fault. Seen, or unseen, the blame lay with the murderer, who chose to take those lives.

It was said to be proof that her future-seeing was gone, that she could no longer see the danger for her and for the King, with the loss of her virginity. Like all Seers and Sorcerers. Astonishing that so much could change from one little prick.

What the people got from that loss was Tony; who, as he grew into his strength, was not an Alpha, a strong leader of men, but an Omega, and blessed with the Sight. 

But the years in between had been hard. People staring at him, knowing it was his fault that his parents were dead. If he didn’t exist, his mother would have Seen the danger.

Tony’s visions, when he came of age, were powerful, strong. Frequent. Ten times the strength of his mother’s. Unlike his mother, Tony could See on demand, almost all the time. He had only to concentrate to foresee the near future, to have a token that belonged to a person in order to see their future. With some effort, he could See further out, although farSeeing left him exhausted for days.

His visions were scarily accurate.

And for Stane, he saw rivers of blood. Village after village, struck down. More and more of the map dissolving into flame, falling under his banner. 

A time of war that would last at least from when Tony turned thirteen until Obadiah Stane crowned himself king of the known world.

“Why would the Winter Soldier kill your parents?” Stane’s deep voice drew Tony out of his memories. He’d tried a dozen times to See that Night, but he couldn’t, there was an impenetrable fog about it. “For power, Tony, my boy. For the glory of hanging your mother’s head on his wall, for having your father’s token on his hand. The Thunderbolts kill, child, for reasons known only to them and to their death gods.”

Nothing Tony could find among the sacred scrolls spoke of the Thunderbolts’ gods, or their creed. Not a personal account, at least, and the awe and terror the other tribes felt when speaking of them, Tony didn’t think those views were at all accurate. Surely the Thunderbolts had to have weddings, births, celebrations. They weren’t all warrior-assassins.

_Surely._

“What did you see, my boy?”

“Victory,” Tony said, because that was true. “You destroy them utterly.” And that was also true, even if it left a foul taste in Tony’s mouth.

“You have seen it?”

“I have.”

“Well, then, tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, we march.”

Tony nodded. He wasn’t interested in the celebration, but he would go. Perhaps he could claim to be weary enough that Stane wouldn’t demand his attendance in the harem. The thought made him nearly sick with fear and loathing.

“I’m going to go see how Yinsen is doing on that powder of his,” Tony said.

Yinsen was-- an involuntary guest. Stane was fascinated with the ideas of the destructive powder Yinsen thought he could make.

According to Stane, the man was too dangerous to be allowed to wander among the tribes. He might hurt someone.

_Or he might build weapons. For someone else._

Tony had Seen that, at one point; Yinsen, kidnapped and enslaved, forced to work to build terrible devices.

A cage was still a cage. Yinsen’s was somewhat less nice than Tony’s, but he was safe. Stane wouldn’t hurt the man. 

_Probably._

He was one of Tony’s only friends, although Tony didn’t know if that was because Yinsen was lonely, smart, or just, in fact, actually a friend. He’d never asked for anything that belonged to the man, never tried to see a vision of him. Only if Yinsen asked.

Which he hadn’t.

“Very well,” Obie said. “I will see you tonight at the celebration.” He looked Tony over with a sniff. “Wear the bead-robe I gave you. And get someone to do your makeup. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Tony hated that robe. He usually wore the traditional shenti and sometimes a loose smock over it. The bead-robe was made from glass and faience beads, strung on flaxen strings. He had to wear a barely there loincloth under it, but he might as well have been naked for all that everyone could see him. He wasn’t a fan of wearing elaborate kohl, either; he had to remember not to touch his face, rub his eyes, drop his face into his hands, or the black and gold lines would smear everywhere. And if someone decided to put kohl around his mouth, it was impossible to eat without making a mess, except for tiny bites.

“Of course,” Tony said.

“Of course--” There was a dangerous tone in Stane's voice. _Commanding_. 

“Yes, of course,” Tony repeated, then, “your majesty.”

Stane was getting more insistent on those titles, which, in truth, he didn’t have. Tony would have been king, if he’d been an Alpha, but the line of succession wasn’t clear. Without some sign from the Gods, Stane was, at best, a steward until the true king could be found.

Stane believed that -- if he killed his way across the lands -- the Gods would have no choice.

Tony wondered, sometimes.

He didn’t think the Gods approved _at all_.


End file.
